


You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me

by DreamoftheWild



Series: I'm the Definition of a Wreck if You Look Into My Soul [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Bad vibes, Crying, F/M, Injury, It's time to stop, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Panic Attacks, Possession, Self-Harm, They are married it is cute, Time (Linked Universe) Angst, Time (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Time (Linked Universe)-centric, author grasping at straws, that escalated quickly, zero to 100 real quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamoftheWild/pseuds/DreamoftheWild
Summary: It isn't clear exactly why Time has those markings on his face.It's all due to one terrible night, and the evil that dug itself out of the shallow hole it was buried in.
Relationships: Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe)
Series: I'm the Definition of a Wreck if You Look Into My Soul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097654
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89





	You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea for Linktober back in, well, October and just now finally got around to it. Thank you to @Linked_Aurica for once again being my wonderful beta reader. I hope you enjoy. Don't yell at me too much.

He promised himself that he would never touch the thing again. Lock it away in the darkest corner of the closet and mind. For a long while, he was able to ignore the pull, the constant unnerving feeling becoming a new normal in his life. He was able to exist in ignorant bliss, unaware of the effects haunting his very being. However, a dark cloud still persisted, ready to unleash a torrent of misery lest he fall to its temptation.

  
  


He couldn't always ignore the heavy presence tightly pressing against his chest, squeezing him with anxiety. It sometimes had him shivering, hands itching to find the key keeping it locked away. It followed him even into his dreams, waking him in the early morning before the sun. He woke drenched in sweat, so much so he left his side of the bed clear to dry, sitting at the kitchen table rubbing his aching temples as his wife slept soundly alone.

In those moments he gazed longingly at the closet door at the end of the hall. A normal storage space used for useless junk that was hard to be rid of. In there, he hid his greatest burden, and it mocked him endlessly for it. 

Once, he came back to himself with a layer of fear upon seeing he had made his way to the door in his sleep, hand still gripping the door so tight his knuckles were white. His foggy brain addled with thoughts akin to bitter longing, craving the sight of the familiar hollowed eyes staring up at him with no emotion and the whispers of false promises that breathed noisily against his ears.

  
  


Malon's voice calmed him in that moment, her hands laid gently upon his. 

"Come back to bed," she said, talking low in the way one would to a cornered wild animal. It took almost an hour for him to let go, his now freezing hands finding purchase in hers as she led him back to the warm comfort of soft blankets and the feeling of her chest rising and falling against his. 

She carried the weight of his pain with her, no matter how hard he tried to carry it himself. He found himself stuck in the middle of a dark void, and the only light was her, her voice piercing through the awful silence to reach him in his darkest moments. Sometimes he would snap at her like a rabid dog, lashing out in blind fury. He was almost like an addict in a withdrawal, his only fixation was this god-like power. 

The day it finally caught him off-guard started bright and joyful.

  
  


Sunlight filtered through the paper thin curtains, which swayed listlessly in the cool autumn breeze through the slightly cracked window above their bed. He rolled over with a sharp intake of air, waking naturally. He propped himself up on one elbow, creating a vantage point from which he can observe her, his other hand busy carding digits through her red hair. Malon was still dead to the world, soft snores the only noise in the room. He could watch her all day. He smiled to himself, wondered internally how he had gotten so lucky to claim such a beautiful woman as his other half.

Her eyes fluttered open and she hummed a soft whine as she roused from her rest. 

"Good morning," he whispered, voice gravelly and deep from just waking himself. He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss, eliciting a happy, half-awake giggle from her. 

Her arms found their way around his neck before he could move, pulling him down to her so she can pepper his cheeks with little kisses of her own.

  
  


"Good mornin’," she whispered back fondly, stretching to give one last peck on his nose. 

"Let's go make breakfast," she added, suddenly wide awake. 

Before she could move to throw off the covers, he grabbed her in a tight hug. 

"No," he whined in her ear, "lay down a few more minutes, I'm comfy." She rolled her eyes at his childish tone but gave in to his wishes. 

"Fine, but not for too long, we do live on a farm ya know." 

He relaxed into her, resting his head in the crook of her neck, just committing the feeling of her skin to his memory. He must have dozed off, because she's shaking him awake again after a few minutes. 

"Okay, time to get up, even the cuccos have stopped crying and moved on with their day." She pushed him hard enough that he hung halfway off the bed for a bit.

"Hey!" He yelled, losing his balance and falling entirely. Malon snorted and stood up, hands resting on her hips, "One of these days you'll finally be used to rising early." While she spoke, she made her way to his side of the bed and grabbed his arms, pulling at them without force to get him to stand. "Come on, I'm hungry." 

"Mmm, fine," he started, rising to his feet. To her surprise, he picked her up when he was fully upright and twirled her around once. He placed her back down on her feet and leaned into her ear.

"Race you to the kitchen!" He yelled and pushed past her to get a head start while she was unprepared.

"Oh no ya don't!" She yelled after him, giving chase. Her laughter echoed through the hallway walls and her mock anger at her defeat soon followed.

The rest of the day went by quickly, the hours spent on household chores and farm work.

An early bedtime was essential to a farmer's life, as Malon claims, but Link could never get used to it, and often stayed awake long into the night. That night was no different. The window was now shut tight, keeping out the bitter coldness of the coming winter. He didn't notice at first, dark chanting touching his deaf ears. It is only when he felt the eerie ghost of a breath on his cheek, that he heard it.

_"Come..."_

_"Come to me.."_

The sheets keeping him tied to the bed fell away as he stood, entranced. His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor and he shuffled forward in a daze. 

"Link?" His mind was muddled, he only barely heard his name being called. A presence appeared by his side, and it's only by the prickling sensation he gets from it that he realized that there was another on his other side, not as strong but there nonetheless. 

_"The key is in the bottom drawer._ "

He followed the voice, pulling the lowest drawer completely out of the nightstand, dumping the contents on the floor. The bouncing clinks of the key as it drummed against the ground further distract him from the worried tone of the speaking behind him. He could no longer comprehend what was being said. He grabbed the key in a tight fist and set his sights on the door at the end of the hall. It's the only thing he could see, the rest of the world falling to darkness around him. A pressure pulled at his arm, but he lashed out and hit it away.

He could barely contain his desperation as he pulled open the closet door, almost pulling it off its hinges. Objects and knickknacks were scattered throughout the hallway as he heaved unwanted boxes out of the way, searching for the box he hid away long ago. 

A scratched wooden box is unearthed from the pile of rubbish, held tight against his chest. 

_"Release me."_

He raised his shaking hand to the lock, key clattering against the metal when he missed the hole. The pulling feeling against his arm was back, but he ignored it. He was close, so close. 

_Click._

Dull lifeless eyes stared up at him when the lid opened, a false face of white with blood red gashes along its wooden cheeks. A buzzing filled his senses as the urge to give in was increased tenfold. 

_Wait. No.. No! This isn't right_ , his mind screamed inside his skull, unable to regain control of his body. The box is forgotten at his feet, the familiar carved object held in his hands. He couldn't stop them from moving upward, a foreboding shadow blocking his vision. 

"Link!" This time he hears her, is aware of her, and the new bruise she now sported on her cheek. She has both of his hands in a death grip, trying to pull them away from his face with all of her strength.

But, it's too late.

As soon as even a small amount of his skin touched the mask, it sucked him in. Pain took over all at once. He doesn't realize the sound making him feel he's going deaf, is his own screaming.

He felt a shock akin to electricity flow through every individual nerve, setting his body aflame. Even at his adult size, he finds himself growing, the pains of his bones breaking from the pressure and melding back together almost has him losing his voice. 

"Stop!" he yells, voice wavering between his, and someone’s much deeper. 

He was so distracted by the torment that he didn't realize he had stumbled into the kitchen. Drawers of silverware lay upended on the floor, plates smashed to pieces on the ground. Destruction followed him on his search for something, anything, that would make it stop.

A small leather handle feels familiar to his tense grip, from hours of cutting vegetables for Malon while they made dinner together. He slides the kitchen knife out of it's holder near the sink. 

_Have to get it off have to get it off have to get it off-_

He slashed at his own face, a long crooked line from his forehead to cheek. The mask fractures minutely, it isn't enough to release him. He heard a panicked cry from the doorway, but he had to get free before it took over completely. 

Through his blurred vision, he found the point of the small blade and faced it towards himself, hands shaking so bad he could barely keep a grip on it. 

Malon almost screamed as loud as him when he drove it straight into his eye.

  
  


* * *

  
He woke with a ringing in his ears and a sharp pain taking residence in his skull. There's a pressure against his eyelids, and a curious hand found bandages wrapped tight around the top half of his face.

“Don’ touch yer face,” his wife’s gentle voice comes from beside him, and despite his relief at hearing her there, he couldn't help from flinching. 

She clicked her tongue, chiding herself, and he could feel the dip on the bed beside him indicating she had sat down. “How’re you feeling?” she asked in a low voice. He heard a soft clink on the bedside table as she freed her hands of whatever she was holding. 

His throat’s soreness made itself known when he answers with a short, weary hum. He coughed into the back of his hand, absolutely certain he looked as tired as he felt. She would never mind his appearance, of course.

“I brought ya some honey tea, should help with yer throat.”

He hummed a thanks, pushing himself up on his elbows while she fluffed the pillow up behind him. 

“I'm gonna touch ya now, okay?”

He nodded, grateful for the warning, his wounded pride was still recovering from the last scare. He felt her grab his hand and a warm, curved surface touched his palm. He closed his fingers around it and brought his other hand up to steady it. She helped him guide the teacup to his lips and then withdrawals. 

He took a few slow sips, relishing the way the warmth soothed him. He leaned further into the pillow against his back. When he's had his fill, he holds the cup slightly away from himself. She pulled it out of his hand, and set it back down on the table. 

“What happened?” He croaked.

“Ya don't remember? I guess that's a good thing, ” she sighs, “I- I can’t sugarcoat this for you, hon. What happened was terrifying. Doc says it'll leave lasting changes.” Her breath hitches, and he realized she’s started crying. He leaned forward and grabbed at her, hoping he's not too far off, but he didn't have to try. She crashed into his arms, sobbing against him.

“I thought I lost ya…”she whispered between gasps of air, “you weren’t breathing for a few minutes. There's blood all over the kitchen and I can’t clean it up!” 

_Blood?_

It came back to him then; a sharp pain in his right eye, the feeling of a knife in his hand, and the whispers against his ear that he couldn’t remember the words of. He reached a hand up to press against his eye as he hissed in pain.

“Don’ touch it!” She smacked his hand away, grabbed and held it against her chest with trembling hands.

“Sorry.” He ran his free hand through her hair. Silence passed between them. It was heavy in the air, making it hard to breath. It was overbearing in the worst way, his heart beat hard against his ribs. 

“How long was I out…and lasting changes?” he asked finally, voice weak but steady.

She moved, cradling his cheek, “A few days. I need to replace your bandages.. I can show you,” she said it hesitantly, unsure of the idea. He nodded quietly in return. She left briefly to get a new roll, and apparently a handheld mirror as he found out shortly after. 

“Doc said ta keep yer eye closed while I did this, could hurt ya more,” she began to explain as she unraveled the cloth from around his head, and he could feel it start to loosen, “uh, yer right one.” 

“Mhm, ” he replies.

With the cloth falling away completely, he cracked open his good eye, headache spiking from the sudden onslaught of light. He groaned, blinking a few times to clear his vision. Malon smiled wearily at him when the fog dispersed.

“Good morning, Fairy boy," she used his nickname, but he could tell there was no heart behind it.

He reached for the mirror in her lap, but she quickly pulled it back, “Wait-”

She looked terrified, watching him closely as if he were a stray animal that found its way into the house. “Don’… don’ freak out, alright?” 

  
_That's never good to hear._

He nodded again, holding out his fingers towards the mirror, which she reluctantly handed over. He faced it away from him and took a deep breath.  
  


He was not prepared for what he saw when he turned it around. Some scarring maybe, but not this. Two thick red lines seemingly tattooed upon his cheek, disappearing behind the hair framing his face. The deep teal design of the Fierce Deity mask rested on his forehead, and a long scar gouged a line from his hairline to his cheek. The same way the mask had cracked during his panicked frenzy. His vision blurred, heart racing. The mask _imprinted_ on him, he would never be free of it, not as long as he could see his own reflection. 

“Link! Breathe!” He felt his hand come to rest on her chest, feeling her exaggerated slow breathing beneath his fingers. He was eventually able to match his breathing with hers, an exercise they had to perform far too often.  
  
“My eye, I can't see can I?” he asked after a moment. 

She shook her head sadly, “Doc said he's surprised there was no actual damage. That mask is magical isn't it?” He didn't have to answer for her to know the truth.

“It… it saved you in a way I guess, but whatever ya did to that mask happened to ya too. Well that's wha’ I thought anyways. But, I think ya’ve had enough for one day.” She picked up the roll of bandages that had fallen onto the mattress beside them. “Only a few more days okay?”

“I'll miss you,” he joked half heartedly and she smacked his arm playfully, “I’ll be right here, ya idiot.” 

  
  


* * *

“Uh, old man? Are you going deaf on us?” Legend’s sarcastic voice breaks Link, now nicknamed Time, from his thoughts. “You gonna answer how you got that scar?” The boy with the pink streak in his hair asks, pointing at the older hero’s right eye.  
  
Time’s mouth forms a thin line, remaining eye steeled, “No.”


End file.
